Rhy was up on the royal platform, but Lila saw no sign of the king or queen, or Kell for that matter, though she spotted Alucard’s siblings on a balcony below. Berras scowled while Anisa clapped and cheered and waved her brother’s pennant.
The arena was a blur of motion and light, and the entire crowd held its breath as the two favorites danced around each other. Jinnar moved like air, Alucard like steel.
Lila fidgeted with the sliver of pale stone—turning the White London keepsake over in her fingers as she watched, trying to keep up with the competitors’ movements, read the lines of attack, predict what they would do, and understand how they did it.
It was a close match.
Jinnar was a thing of beauty when it came to wind, but Alucard was right; it was his only element. He could render it into a wall or a wave, use it to cut like a knife, and with its help he could practically fly. But Alucard held earth and water, and everything they made between them—blades as solid as metal, shields of stone and ice—and in the end, his two elements triumphed over Jinnar’s one, and Alucard won, breaking ten plates of armor to Jinnar’s seven.
The silver-eyed magician withdrew, a smile visible through the metal wisps of his mask, and Alucard tipped his scale-plated chin to the royal platform and offered a deep bow to the prince before disappearing into the corridor.
The audience started to file out, but Lila lingered. The walk to the arena had loosened her limbs, but she wasn’t keen on moving again, not before she had to, so she hung back, watching the crowds ebb and flow as some left for other matches, and others came. The blue and silver pennants disappeared, replaced by a flaming red cat on a golden ground—that was Kisimyr’s banner—and a pair of lions on red.
Kamerov.
Lila pocketed the shard of white stone and settled in. This should be interesting.
She had Kisimyr pinned as a fireworker, but the Arnesian champion came out—prowled, really, that mane of black hair spilling out in ropes below her feline mask—holding spheres of water and earth.
To the crowd’s delight, Kamerov appeared with the same.
An equal match, then, at least as far the elements went. It wasn’t even Lila’s fight—thank god it wasn’t her fight—but she felt her pulse tick up in excitement.
The orbs fell, and the match crashed into motion.
They were well paired—it took almost five full minutes for Kisimyr to land the first hit, a glancing blow to Kamerov’s thigh. It took another eight for Kamerov to land the second.
Lila’s eyes narrowed as she watched, picking up on something even before she knew what it was.
Kisimyr moved in a way that was elegant, but almost animal. But Kamerov … there was something familiar about the fluid way he fought. It was graceful, almost effortless, the flourishes tacked on in a way that looked unnecessary. Before the tournament, she’d truly only seen a handful of fights using magic. But it was like déjà vu, watching him down there on the arena floor.
Lila rapped her fingers on the rail and leaned forward.
Why did he seem so familiar?
*
Kell ducked, and rolled, and dodged, trying to pace his speed to Kisimyr’s, which was hard because she was fast. Faster than his first opponent, and stronger than anyone he’d fought, save Holland. The champion matched him measure for measure, point for point. That first blow had been a mistake, clumsy, clumsy—but saints, he felt good. Alive.
Behind Kisimyr’s mask, Kell caught the hint of a smile, and behind his own, he grinned back.
Earth hovered in a disk above his right hand, water swirling around his left. He twisted out from behind the shelter of a pillar, but she was already gone. Behind him. Kell spun, throwing the disk. Too slow. The two collided, attacked, and dove apart, as if they were fighting with swords instead of water and earth. Thrust. Parry. Strike.
A spear of hardened earth passed inches from Kell’s armored cheek as he rolled, came up onto one knee, and attacked with both elements at the same time.
Both connected, blinding them in light.
The crowd went wild, but Kisimyr didn’t even hesitate.
Her water, tinted red, had been orbiting her in a loop. Kell’s attack had brought him close, into her sphere, and now she pushed hard against part of the circle, and it shot forward without breaking the ring, freezing as it did into an icy spike.
Kell jumped back, but not fast enough; the ice slammed into his shoulder, shattering the plate and piercing the flesh beneath.
The crowd gasped.
Kell hissed in pain and pressed his palm against the wound. When he drew his hand away from his shoulder, blood stained his fingers, jewel-red. Magic whispered through him—As Travars. As Orense. As Osaro. As Hasari. As Steno. As Staro—and his lips nearly formed a spell, but he caught himself just in time, wiped the blood on his sleeve instead, and attacked again.
*